


Consequences

by LadyoftheWoods



Series: Consequences [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 04:24:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20594666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheWoods/pseuds/LadyoftheWoods
Summary: Payment is demanded for their actions during the would be end of the world.





	1. A Different Kind of Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Here's some more Good Omens angst, because I literally cannot write anything else at the moment. Byeeee

Aziraphale hesitated outside the door. He’d never actually been inside Crowley’s flat before and didn’t quite know what to expect. In his mind he pictured an almost dungeon like room, filled with shadowy corners and flickering torches. He took a breath and knocked on the door, surprised as it opened easily at his touch.  
He hesitated again. Crowley didn’t seem the type to leave his doors unlocked, and something about this didn’t feel right. Still, he straightened his jacket and entered, surprised and delighted.  
It was filled with plants. Beautiful lush green ferns and flowers, as beautiful and perfect as anything he’d ever seen in Eden. The air was sweet with their scent, the light filtering through their leaves in shimmers of green. A strange wind seemed to sweep through the room as the plants shook at his approach. He cocked his head curiously, before continuing on. He’d ask about it later.  
“Crowley?” He called out, voice echoing back to him through the almost empty space. No reply. He furrowed his brow. Crowley was not one to schedule an appointment then forget about it. Especially not with him.  
He entered the office space, rolling his eyes when he saw the gilded throne atop a small platform. Because of course that ostentatious demon would have a throne, a television and a phone and record player, and nothing else.  
It did strike him as rather bare. After several centuries on earth, one would think that you’d amass a collection of personal items. He certainly had in the form of his books, and other knick knacks crowded into his shop. But Crowley’s flat was devoid of almost anything. Including, at the moment, the demon himself.  
Aziraphale was about to leave when a piece of paper sitting on the desk caught his eye. It was written in Crowley’s scribbled handwriting, and he picked it up, intending only to glance at to whom it was addressed. 

“Aziraphale; they demanded that one of us answer for our actions. They want to make a statement, and they were never going to stop till they had some vengeance. A show of what happens to traitors. I wasn’t going to let it be you. They won’t kill me. Better to make me live and suffer as a symbol of failed rebellion that martyr me. They’ve promised that, and that after we’re free of any obligation to heaven or hell. Cut loose, completely on our own. If we choose to meddle in their affairs again, it’s us against them with no backup coming from either side.  
Stay safe. I’ll be home soon. I promise. Don’t do anything foolish.”

The letter fell from Aziraphale’s shaking hands. He clutched the corner of the desk, face pale and eyes wide. How could Crowley do something so stupidly reckless as to turn himself in, then tell him not to be foolish!? Who knew what they were doing to him! Lord knows what punishments Hell would dole out, much less heaven. Gabriel’s wrath was enough to make him shiver. The combined wrath of Gabriel and Beelzebub, well, that was truly terrifying.  
It was for him, he knew. Crowley was taking both of their punishments upon himself so that Aziraphale would be spared whatever it was they’d had coming. He felt a surge of anger and love, fear and frustration. He almost hated Crowley in that moment for his strange selflessness.  
He felt an almost imperceptible shift in the air, and spun just in time to catch Crowley, who was thrust forwards roughly and would have face planted on the floor, by an angel and demon he didn’t recognize. The demon leered at him and the angel stared haughtily back at him, though both seemed a bit cowed by his infuriated gaze.  
“There’s your little demon, you insolent ignorant fool.” The angel snarled. “Have fun.” With a malicious wink from the demon, they vanished and Aziraphale let out a tense breath.  
He let out a pained hiss of air as he looked down at Crowley. He was a battered, bloody mess. His dark clothes were in tatters and soaked with sweat and blood, there was so much of it, where was it coming from?  
It looked like he’d taken a beating, every inch of him was covered in bruises, and Aziraphale was sure his ribs were cracked. His breath wheezed in and out in an irregular rhythm and he was deathly pale. Aziraphale could see what looked like claw marks slashed across his chest, large bite marks tearing through his skin and blistering burns scorched his arms from wrist to shoulder.  
But that wasn’t the worst. Aziraphale gasped, tears flooding to his eyes as he examined Crowley’s back, where his wings were supposed to be. There was nothing there but two gaping, gouged, torn and ugly wounds. He could see the joints where the wings would attach within, it was torn open down to the bone. It looked like they’d snapped the bone, then ripped them out of their sockets. He couldn’t even imagine the pain.  
“Don’t look… so glum… angel. You got off…. Easy.” Crowley choked out, coughing so hard he curled into a ball, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were too bright, glazed with an almost feverish look, lips pressed hard together in a thin line, trying no doubt to hide the pain racking his body.  
“Crowley you absolute insufferable idiotic fool!” Aziraphale shouted, voice shaking as he suppressed a sob. “What the hell were you thinking!?”  
“That you… are too good… for this… love.” Aziraphale could feel Crowley shaking, going into shock. His eyes squeezed closed as a tremor wracked his body and he stifled a shout of pain, swallowing it down and gasping for breath. He heard Ziri’s sharp intake of breath, could sense the anxious fluttering of his hands.  
Aziraphale knew he couldn’t deal with this himself. There was too much damage, too much blood, he couldn’t… he didn’t know what to do. How to handle this, but he knew who would. They’d have to.  
Crowley blearily opened his eyes as he felt himself lifted off the ground, scooped up into Aziraphale’s arms. He had blurred double vision, vaguely seeing Aziraphale grab the keys to the Bentley off the desk, hurrying out the door, then he slipped out of awareness.  
Aziraphale gently deposited Crowley in the back seat, taking off his pristine jacket and covering him with it, trying to staunch the bleeding, not caring about the stains already seeping through the fabric. He hopped into the driver’s seat, starting the car with a flinch.  
“Ok… car. I know Crowley talks to you, I don’t know if it does anything but… well, he’s in trouble and we need to get to Tadfield. I’m not a speedy driver so I’m going to need your help here.” With that, the gas pedal hit the floor without his say so, and he gripped the steering wheel with a yelp, intensely focusing on the road.  
He glanced back every few minutes, watching until he saw Crowley inhale again, keeping an eye on him in the rearview mirror. He could see his aura fading, flickering in and out. He swore and willed the car faster, which it obliged, seemingly sharing his panic for its owner. He talked steadily to Crowley the whole time, trying to keep him awake. They made it, somehow, in one piece, to Tadfield in a miraculous fifteen minutes.  
He screeched to a halt outside the quiet, idyllic house, slamming closed his door and cradling Crowley in his arms, slamming open the door to the house with uncharacteristic carelessness.  
“ANATHEMA!” He shouted, scream ripping from his chest with an almost magically enhanced level of volume. In his panic he wasn’t keeping his power in check.  
“Aziraphale? What on earth- “Anathema cut off as she looked at the shaking bundle in his arms, hands covering her mouth as she met Aziraphale’s eyes.  
“What happened?” She near whispered, leaning against the wall. Aziraphale shook his head.  
“He was an absolute idiot is what happened. Help him. You have to… I can’t fix this I need… please…” Aziraphale was tripping over his words. He couldn’t think straight at the moment, and realized he’d been channeling all his power into Crowley, into keeping him alive. She pulled herself together remarkably fast, giving a curt nod.  
“Spare bedroom upstairs. Go lay him down up there and keep doing whatever you’re doing, it’s keeping him going. I’ll get some tinctures to stop the bleeding, then we can work on the rest of it. Losing blood is the most dangerous threat right now.” Aziraphale nodded, and darted up the stairs.  
“Come on Crowley, you need to stay awake for me.” He murmured, gently depositing him on the spare bed. Crowley looked up at him with half open eyes, distant and glazed over.  
“M’sorry Ziri. S’me or you and it wassna gonna be you.” Crowley slurred, darkness flickering at the edges of his vision. He felt Aziraphale squeeze his hand.  
“You are under no circumstances leaving me, do you understand that Crowley? I simply will not tolerate your moving on without me.” Aziraphale replied, trying to sound firm and commanding, pouring more energy into Crowley.  
Anathema bustled into the room, carrying a battered looking old carpet bag, which she started pulling bottles and bandages out of, as well as a bowl of clean water and rags. She stood, carefully removing Crowley’s shirt, which was stuck in places to his wounds. She bit her lip, seeing the total damage to his body.  
“no. Start there.” Aziraphale said tiredly, rolling the now unconscious Crowley over. Anathema let out a pained squeak upon seeing the ruined, bloody remains of Crowley’s back. The wounds had stopped bleeding so much, at least, and she was able to wash them with water, then natural purifiers. She packed the wounds with a healing salve and wrapped them carefully in bandages.  
She applied ointment to the severe burns that ran up his arms before lightly wrapping them, bandaged his ribs in place as well as she could, cleaned and bound the deep claw marks on his chest with healing salves, the large bite marks on his shoulder, wincing at every tremor of the demon, every small sound of pain, his whole body was mottled ugly greens and purples, but there was little she could do for bruises.  
Finally, she stepped back, wiping sweat from her brow, biting her lip and crossing her arms.  
“I’ve done what I can, but who knows… if anything’s infected,” she sighed, knowing the odds were against them in that department, “we just have to hope for the best. Aziraphale, his wings.” She turned to look at the angel, who’s own face was gray and tired from effort.  
“I know. That blasted fiend…. Gah, why is he such a fool sometimes, he had to know…” Aziraphale trailed off, dropping his head into his hands.  
“He did this for me. So I wouldn’t have to suffer any… repercussions from our disobedience in regards to Armageddon. He took the fall for both of us.” Came the mumbled words, as he rubbed his face, then leaned back in his chair beside the bed.  
“It had to be the demons that did that to… to his wings. Right?” She asked, coming to stand by Aziraphale’s side. He shook his head, eyes going hard.  
“I daresay that’s Michael’s handiwork. She always was the vengeful sort. I’d guess the burns are from down below, along with the claw marks. Let a Hellhound have at him, I’d guess.” They both paused as Crowley shifted, curling tighter into himself, chills racing through him.  
“He’ll be alright, Aziraphale. As long as he’s got you, he’ll be alright.” On a whim, she kissed the top of his head in a motherly gesture, before heading out of the room and down to the kitchen. She had some more recipes she could try to aid healing, some experimentals that might work specifically well for a demon. She’d send Newt out for ingredients when he got home. She wondered if Agnes had seen this coming, then shook her head. There was nothing for it now besides to get to brewing.

Crowley was burning. He felt so unbearably hot, like fire racing through his veins, like holy water burning him from the inside out. Something was wrapped around him, heating him up, and he fought against it, trying to struggle free, trying to get to cool, cold air. He felt a sharp stab of excruciating pain, and his mind exploded into darkness.  
His wings felt like they were aflame, like they were slowly being eaten away by acid. He twisted and writhed, trying to reach them, but he couldn’t feel them, couldn’t find them, then something was holding him down, pinning him down and he felt panic swallow him. He needed to get away, it was the hound, it was back, any second it would tear into his flesh and rip him apart for good. A scream blossomed in his throat, turning into pained whimpers and racking coughs as he curled into a tight ball, distantly aware of familiar voices before blackness circled back in.  
He was shaking, he couldn’t stop shaking. His teeth were grit so hard he could feel them grinding, it felt like he was inside an inferno, inside a volcano, like every inch of him was bubbling and boiling. He was aware of quiet whispers, he couldn’t quite comprehend the words, it felt like he was floating above himself, the world was blurred and out of focus, colors too bright. He could see the blurry form of Aziraphale pacing the room, he was so glowingly pure white bright that he could barely stand to look at him. Talking to him was a brown figure, glowing an earthy green. He tried to say something, but it came out as a rasping croak, his throat burning sore and dry.  
“Crowley!” Aziraphale spun away from whatever conversation he’d been having, instantly kneeling down next to Crowley, smoothing back his hair, frowning at the ice-cold temp of his forehead. He grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table and gently tipped it to Crowley’s mouth. He took a few small swallows, then his golden eyes drifted closed again, unable to keep focused.  
Aziraphale let out a shuddering sigh, resting his forehead against Crowley’s for a long moment, stroking his hair, trying to keep his own exhausted, fearful tears from spilling out.  
“He has to get better. I don’t know… I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t get better.” Aziraphale’s voice cracked, tears trickling from the corners of his eyes as he looked back at Anathema. They were both utterly exhausted and worn down.  
It broke her heart seeing the two of them like this. Aziraphale was an absolute wreck. His usual impeccable dress was wrinkled and slept in, his hair sticking up at odd angles, dark bags under his eyes, which were red and blood shot. She knew he was feeding Crowley energy from his aura, she could see him doing it, and wondered if he was giving more than he should.  
Crowley was still mostly unconscious, though every once in a rare while his eyes drifted open for a minute at most. He was drenched in a cold sweat, which wasn’t helping raise his temperature, though he’d stopped fighting the blankets at least. Though that worried her too, if he didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, she worried he was barely hanging on.  
She’d put stitches in his back wounds to close them up some, once they’d stopped bleeding so much and the salve had done its work on pulling out any toxins. The three large stripes on his chest concerned her, they were red and angry looking still, almost hot to the touch, in contrast to the cold of the rest of his body. That worried her too, his demon equivalent of a fever hadn’t come up, if anything he was getting colder. His usual swirling black vortex of an aura was a washed-out gray, looking almost as pale and lifeless as Crowley himself.  
She’d gotten to know the two of them after they averted the apocalypse together. More Aziraphale than Crowley, he was more personable than the demon, and they shared a love of books. His bookshop was simply fantastic and she could spend hours in it browsing and asking questions.  
Crowley was more reserved, less likely to speak to her or in her presence. To anyone else it might seem haughty or condescending, but from Crowley it was almost a shyness, an unsureness. He was so used to having no one in his life besides Aziraphale he didn’t know what to do with others who cared about him.  
He cared deeply for Aziraphale, anyone with eyes could see that. He always hovered around the angel protectively, ready to fight off anything or anyone that would threaten him. His aura was so attuned to Aziraphale’s, she bet he could feel him always, know exactly where he was. It didn’t surprise her that Crowley had acted the way he had in regards to their punishment. She just worried what the consequences would be if he didn’t recover.  
“I know. But you’re doing exactly what he needs you to be doing right now. Just being here, talking to him, it’s keeping him going, Aziraphale. He’s fighting so hard for you.” He was. Everything about him strained towards Aziraphale, his physical body, his spirit, his aura, it was all so deeply focused on Aziraphale, even now. Just him being here was helping Crowley. Aziraphale ran his hands through his hair.  
“He’s saved me so many times. Every time I’ve ever gotten myself into trouble Crowley swoops in without my needing to say anything and gets me out of it. He’s always been my own guardian angel.” Aziraphale said, taking Crowley’s hand and squeezing it, pressing it to his lips. It was limp and lifeless in his hand, it felt like touching an icicle.  
“I would give anything to have taken this cruelty for him. But he would never have let me. He would have chained me up rather than let me get a single scratch. He’s so infuriatingly protective…” Aziraphale closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh.  
“You should get some rest. I can see what you’re doing too, Aziraphale. You’re just as drained as he is.” Anathema replied softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.  
He shook his head, tucking Crowley in tighter. “I can’t. I’m afraid if I let up… if I go anywhere…” his voice broke, and he rubbed his face.  
“You don’t have to go anywhere, ok? Just… I’ll get you a footrest and a blanket and you can sleep right here. I’ll keep an eye on him, if anything changes, I’ll wake you up right away, I promise.” Aziraphale hemmed and hawed for a moment, but acquiesced. He was practically falling asleep in the chair anyway, he may as well be comfortable doing it.  
As he settled in, he looked over at Anathema, who stood looking out of the window, both hands gripping the sill. Her hair was a tangled mess, wild curls escaping her hasty bun. She had her own bags under her eyes, but she was so determined, so defiant. He could see it in the tilt of her chin, the way her eyes shone in the light, in the set of her stance. She was just as determined to save Crowley as he was, and he felt a flood of gratitude for the young witch.  
“Thank you. For everything, I suppose. I know he would never have had a chance without you. You’re so brilliantly smart and capable, my dear. I don’t know what I would do without you.” She looked a bit startled at his praise, before smiling smally and warmly, looking over at Aziraphale.  
“I would do anything I could to help the two of you, Aziraphale. Don’t even mention it. I know… how much you mean to each other.” She thought of Newt, who had been so blessedly good at keeping her sane and alive the past few days, and imagined losing him. Then how much harder it would be to lose someone you’d known and loved for millennium.  
Once he was asleep, she tiptoed down to the kitchen to make some more tea and heat some cloths. They’d been managing to get Crowley to drink warm beverages, and had been laying warm towels on his forehead to try and bring his temperature up.  
Newt was in the kitchen, disheveled brown hair tousled as he turned from the stove, where he was already heating the kettle. Without a word he swept over to Anathema, holding her from behind, kissing her cheek, the top of her head.  
“How are they?” He asked as she leaned back into his embrace, closing her eyes and accepting his warmth, his love.  
“I got Aziraphale resting. Crowley…” She trailed off, pulling away and collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know what else I can do.” She twisted her loose locks around her finger, frustratedly. Newt came over and rubbed her shoulders, easing some of the tension out of her. She smiled, leaning her head back to look up at his face.  
“I’m so worried, Newt. If we lose one of them, I’m afraid the other will follow. They need each other, everything in them calls to each other. They’re so connected…” She shook her head, standing as the kettle boiled.  
“It’ll be alright. You’re the smartest person I know. And Crowley isn’t one to give up.” Newt replied, fetching heated towels out of the microwave.  
“I know I am,” she replied, softly bumping into him playfully, “I just hope it’s enough.”


	2. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things begin to get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, I had fun writing this, I love my ineffable husbands.

He was back in the burning bookshop. Smoke filled his lungs and heat licked at his skin, not that heat meant anything to him. He spun, looking for any sign of Aziraphale, calling his name until his voice was cracked and hoarse, finally grabbing the only thing he could find and heading out the door, on the war path to destroy whoever had taken Aziraphale from him.   
He was in the park and they grabbed Aziraphale. They hadn’t traded faces, and they made him watch. He screamed and struggled and cursed but he couldn’t get free, couldn’t do anything as they summoned the Hell fire, as he watched it eat away at Aziraphale, as Aziraphale’s scream of pain mingled with his, as his every atom was torn painfully and slowly apart, as Ziri still gave him that small, forgiving smile as he vanished to ash and he fell to his knees.  
He was watching the hosts of Heaven and Hell roar into battle, ravaging the earth, tearing it apart, haphazardly slaying humans in their haste. He tried to defend them, he and Aziraphale back to back, but they couldn’t keep the entirety of heaven and hell at bay by themselves. He took a stab to the chest by a blade coated in holy water, feeling it burn and eat him up from the inside as he fell. He watched, unable to do anything as a demon clawed Aziraphale, slashing his delicate throat, the light draining from his eyes before Crowley’s vision too went dark.   
He was falling all over again, he looked to the side, and saw Aziraphale’s wings stretched out, unable to catch the wind. He angled towards him, catching him midair, careening through the sky, wrapping his wings tight around the angel as they crashed into the earth at super sonic speed, breaking every bone in his body upon impact.   
He was on a strange, white plain. It was flat and featureless, and utterly too bright. He vaguely recognized this place. This was the plain between plains, not quite earth, not quite heaven or hell. It was where he’d taken Adam and Aziraphale when he’d managed to freeze time for a precious few minutes. He didn’t know how or why he was here now. He tried to stretch his wings, and doubled over from the pain, one hand clutching his head, the other splayed out on the ground before him, supporting him as he hissed.   
He was tired. He was so dreadfully tired. Everything hurt, everything pounded and ached and burned like he was coated in holy water. He could feel himself fading, flaking away. He didn’t want to fight it anymore. He just wanted to rest. He had nothing left with which to hold on. He didn’t even know why he was trying.  
Here he could feel how desperately cold he really was, like ice pumping through his veins, freezing over his heart as it beat ever slower, his thoughts lagging and slow. Shivers wracked his body, and every inhale of breath burned his lungs. He dropped his head, hand squeezing the ground in agony, trying to hold onto something solid, something real, but nothing in this place was real. Behind his eyes he was seeing Aziraphale destroyed in a million different ways, and every time he failed to save him. Aziraphale was gone and he was alone and what was the point?

Aziraphale opened his eyes. He wasn’t in the spare room in the cottage anymore, wasn’t anywhere on earth, that was for sure. It took him a few moments to place that he wasn’t on a physical plain, but a spiritual one. Once he had that settled, he knew immediately why he was here.   
He could feel Crowley. He could sense him plain as day, in a way he hadn’t been able to since he got hurt. His consciousness was here, somewhere, and it was fading fast. He unfurled his wings, taking to the endless sky, circling upwards as he looked for that dark speck on the ground, following the tug of his soul onwards.   
His searching gaze scanned the ground below carefully as he sped as fast as he dared without missing anything. There! Just ahead, a dark shape on this featureless landscape. He dove, tumbling over on his landing in an effort to make it to the demon faster, sliding to his knees before Crowley.   
He was pale, his auburn hair was a dull brown, his golden eyes were a faded milky yellow, and he was almost translucent, almost burned away to nothing, like mist dissolving under the morning sun.  
Without a second of thought Aziraphale pulled Crowley into his arms, onto his lap. He ran his hands soothingly through the demon’s hair, he held him close and tight, he breathed warmth into him in the form of words and stories and memories from their thousands of years together trading off miracles and temptations. The whole time Crowley clung to him, face pressed into Aziraphale’s chest, eyes closed, though the angel could tell he was listening, could tell he was still there, felt the recognition flutter through him.   
“M’so sorry Zir. M’so tired.” He mumbled into Aziraphale’s chest, looking up at the angel with sorrowful, exhausted eyes. They looked so haunted, Aziraphale gasped, wondering what he’d been seeing while he’d been trapped in his mind.  
“There’s nothing to be sorry for Crowley. Not yet. If you leave me… well, then there’ll be something to be sorry for. So don’t you dare. Don’t you even think it.” Aziraphale replied firmly, hands shaking as he stroked Crowley’s cheek, leaning forwards and giving him a slow, gentle kiss.   
“Dunno if it’s up to me, love.” Crowley murmured, eyes drifting closed. Aziraphale was so bright, it hurt to look at him. Even from behind his eyelids, he could see that blazing light.  
“I demand you fight this Crowley. If you don’t… if you don’t make it then I’ll, I’ll- “He paused for a moment, realizing the truth of what he was about to say a moment before he said it, “I’ll make myself cease to exist as well. I’ll jump into hellfire, I’ll fly into the sun, I’ll do something drastic and irreversible.”   
Crowley’s eyes snapped open, and for that moment they were crystal clear and entirely furious. Good, Aziraphale had hoped he’d be angry, hoped that would light a fire in his belly.   
“I did this so you could avoid that Angel.” He hissed out, shocked out of his drowsy stupor as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him. “Don’t you waste it.” Crowley’s eyes were closed again, but he was still awake and aware, Aziraphale could sense it. Just as he could sense that if Crowley lingered here much longer, he’d be lost for good, simply vanishing as if he’d never existed in the first place. But he could tell that he no longer wanted to vanish. He wanted to continue, despite the pain, he was ready in earnest to fight it.  
“Come on dear, we’re going home now.” He whispered, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead, holding him tight and willing them back to the earthly realm.

He jolted awake, almost falling forwards out of his chair. He turned his gaze to Crowley, breath catching in his throat as he was ensnared by those golden serpentine eyes holding his own with crystal clarity.   
“You’re not wearing your coat.” Were the first disoriented words out of Crowley’s mouth. Aziraphale laughed, warmth filling him as he brushed back Crowley’s hair, feeling his forehead was already warmer than it had been in days.   
“Well, it got completely covered in blood when I transported you here from your flat, and I’m afraid it attained some irrevocable damage from the experience. You’ll just have to help me pick out another. You do have quite the sense for fashion.” Aziraphale replied, giving up on scooting the chair closer to the bed, and just sitting on the edge beside Crowley.   
“Where… how….” The questions trailed off Crowley wheezed in a breath, a spasm of pain rocking through him.   
“Tadfield, dear. The cottage. Anathema and Newt have been impossibly helpful and kind. We took your car, I feared miracling you here wouldn’t be the best plan in your fragile state.” He reached out and took Crowley’s hand, running his fingers over the knuckles, soaking up the feeling of Crowley alive and alert and blessedly warm.   
“Didn’t scratch her, did you?” Crowley murmured, eyes drifting closed. He heard the rumble of Aziraphale’s chuckle.   
“If your driving hasn’t completely destroyed that car by now, Crowley, I dare say it’s invincible. No, I didn’t scratch it. In fact, it practically drove itself.” He knew Aziraphale continued to talk, but he heard it distantly, mind in a foggy haze of sleep.   
Still, he felt safe knowing Ziri was right there, watching over him. He knew he could truly rest. As long as Aziraphale was by his side nothing would be able to hurt him, nothing would get past his defenses. He let himself sink into oblivion.  
“Aziraphale? Is everything alright?” Anathema hovered in the doorway. The angel was sitting on the bed, and when he turned to look back at her he was smiling so brightly she let some of the tension fade from her shoulders as she approached the bed, feeling Crowley’s forehead with the back of her hand. Her eyes widened, and she let out a heavy breath, sinking into Aziraphale’s vacated chair, a wave of exhaustion washing over her.   
“What happened? You did something, didn’t you? Before his aura was… it was grayed and flickering. It’s almost back to its normal color now.” She said absently, taking in the even rise and fall of Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale quickly explained what had happened, Anathema fixed on his words with intense focus and interest. That got them deep into a conversation about the different plains of existence, the differences between them, how they all connected.   
Crowley stirred in his sleep, letting out a small sound of pain or fear, flailing and swinging his arms, as if to strike out at something. Aziraphale grabbed his wrists, pinning them down against the bed.   
“No… let go… zira… Ziraphale! Please… let him go… let…” Crowley whimpered, twisting under Aziraphale’s grip. “not… me… instead… please…” he begged, going limp, energy drained. Aziraphale felt like he’d been punched in the gut, and he softened instantly.   
“Oh Crowley. I’m right here, dear. I’m perfectly fine. You made sure of that, you thick headed demon.” Aziraphale said fondly, stroking Crowley’s cheek, tracing his jawline with his hand, kissing him gently on his nose. He felt Crowley let out a shuddering sigh, then his frantic breath steadied and the creases around his eyes and forehead relaxed.   
“That’s better, isn’t it, now? You don’t worry about a thing, you hear me? I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.” All his attention was now on the demon, Anathema completely forgotten in the background of the room. She smiled.   
She didn’t mind. It was endearingly, beautifully sweet, the two of them. She felt like she could relax for the first time in days without fear of something going disastrously wrong. Aziraphale spoke softly to Crowley, stroking his hair, massaging his hands, and she could see his aura practically engulfing Crowley, cradling him in a bubble of love and warmth and safety. She rubbed her eyes, realizing there were tears streaking down her cheeks. The two of them were going to be fine, after all. She smiled, and slipped quietly out of the room, letting them have their privacy.  
Darkness was pressing in on him. It was suffocating, squeezing the air out of him, crushing him slowly. He could hear echoes of screams, whispers of Beelzebub’s voice promising death and darkness, echoes of the angel’s jeers as he fell, a burning, scorching pain in his back. He could feel light, hovering on the edge of his awareness, and he clawed his way towards it. Every step the darkness squeezed tighter, the screams grew louder, he could hear Adam crying for help, could hear Anathema screaming in fear, could hear Aziraphale crying from pain. He fell, squeezing his hands over his ears, unable to bear the noises, the sounds, all these people who were his accidental friends suffering and he, unable to do anything about it.   
This is why he didn’t let people in, this is why he made an effort not to care, because sooner or later they left you and you were alone again, only it felt worse than before because you knew what it meant to have someone. He could feel the darkness circling in, snapping at his heels. It grabbed at his ankles, and he clawed against the ground as it tried to drag him under, into its inky pool of pitch. Another bolt of electric heat stabbed into his back and his grip slipped and he was pulled back, head barely above the surface of the murky, tar liquid.  
It whispered into his ears, into his mind, in voices familiar to him.   
“You couldn’t save anyone.” Hastur hissed.   
“You’re useless, at everything, to everyone.” Anathema.   
“You destroy everything you touch.” Adam.   
“You lost me, Crowley. I depended on you and you lost me.” Aziraphale. Then his head sunk under the dark, and his eyes snapped open.   
He snarled, ready to fight, ready to claw and scratch and bite his way free, ready to destroy whatever it was that was threatening his friends, threatening him. Ready to tear it apart piece by piece. He shoved himself to his feet, falling and nearly blacking out as pain exploded down his spine, spots of light dancing across his vision. Someone caught him, and he recognized his scent immediately.   
Parchment and tea, leather and wine. He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, burying his face against Ziri’s shoulder, taking in his warmth and his strength and boundless, endless kindness.  
“I leave the room for five seconds and you try and stand. Honestly, Crowley. Can you ever just rest?” Aziraphale huffed, but his voice was soft and tender as he held Crowley back, hand resting against the back of Crowley’s head, the other around his waist.  
“I love you Aziraphale, I love you so so much, more than I can ever say, more than it’s possible for you to understand, more than the whole universe could ever dream to hold.” Crowley pulled back, tears streaking down his face as he leaned back, looking up at Aziraphale, hands resting on his knees.   
“Yes, well, if you’ve proved anything, I think you’ve proved that, dear.” Aziraphale replied with a slight twitch of his lips, sadness flashing into his eyes. “Crowley…” He hesitated, and Crowley shook his head, letting out a sigh and leaning forwards, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s chest, breathing in the safety of him.   
“I know, Ziri. My… wings.” More silent tears streaked down his face, blurring his vision. He felt Aziraphale carefully embrace him, resting his head atop Crowley’s.  
“What the devil were you thinking, Crowley? What… you insufferable demon.” Aziraphale murmured fondly, taking Crowley’s hands in his, meeting his eyes. Crowley looked away, letting out a sigh.   
“I wasn’t going to let you fall, Aziraphale.” Aziraphale shook his head.   
“That’s not your choice to make, Crowley.” He replied, and Crowley’s eyes snapped to his, freezing him in place.   
“It is. As I know how and what it means to fall, as a former angel myself, I do get to make that choice for you. Because I know you, and I know that being fallen would not end well for you, angel.” Crowley winced, a flash of pain crossing his face so fast that for a moment Aziraphale doubted he’d seen it at all.   
But no. There was that set to his mouth, a barely repressed grimace. Something about the lines around his eyes that showed he was focused on something, and that something was not exclusively Aziraphale.   
“You’re still healing, Crowley. Your back… the wounds were deep. Anathema sutured them up but they’ve still scabbed over. I daresay you’ve reopened them by trying to stand. And… well, there’s a symptom humans call ‘phantom limb pain’. If they lose an arm or leg, they sometimes still feel it, or it burns with pain.” Crowley did grimace then.   
“I’m familiar with that already, though I didn’t know it had a name.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment. He could feel them, phantom wings sending twinges of feeling into his spine. It felt as if he only focused, he could spring them free and circle upwards. It was almost irresistible to try, the only thing stopping him the knowledge that devouring pain would follow. He remembered the feel of acid eating feathers and shivered.   
“Crowley?” He did smile then, opening his eyes to Aziraphale’s beautiful baby blues.   
“I don’t regret a thing, angel. I’d do it again if I had to.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself.   
“I know dear. You’re too stubborn to do otherwise. Now, let’s get you back to bed, shall we?” He carefully helped Crowley the few steps back to the bed, laying him down in it and fluffing the pillows behind him.   
“Crowley?” He blinked, the green glow dissipating to the form of Anathema, hovering uncertainly in the doorway.   
“That is my name, yes.” Crowley replied, suppressing a smile as Aziraphale huffed at his sass. Anathema caught all of their silent exchange, smiling as she leaned against the door frame, unflappable.   
“Well, if you’re well enough to mouth off I suppose I don’t need to worry about you dying anymore.” She shot back, smirking as Crowley raised an eyebrow at her own spunk.   
“Ahh, well, sorry to disappoint.” Aziraphale shot him an exasperated glare, but Crowley ignored the eyes shooting lasers at him.   
“How are you doing? I did my best but I don’t know how different you are physiologically from humans.” She asked, switching to serious matters. Crowley shrugged, then let out a sharp hiss, Aziraphale instantly leaning forwards and putting a supporting hand on his shoulder. Crowley leaned against him for support for a moment, before gathering himself and turning back to Anathema.   
“Alright. Thanks, by the by. From what Ziri’s told me I wouldn’t be here if not for you, so it’s not like I can criticize your skills.” Crowley answered, voice a bit strained.  
Anathema blushed. Of all the responses, she hadn’t expected a thank you from the demon. She’d spoken to him more in this conversation that they’d ever spoken on previous encounters, but he didn’t seem one to give any ground. To the demon, expressing thanks seemed to equal owing a favor, and he was loathe to be in anyone’s debt.   
“You don’t owe me a thing, Crowley. You and Aziraphale are always welcome, especially if you need help. I’m glad I could help.” She replied. Crowley gave her an appraising look and a small flash of understanding passed between the two. A new, more comfortable bond of trust, based on their mutual care of Aziraphale.   
“I’ll fetch some tea. Get some rest, both of you. Witch’s orders.” With a flash of a smile she turned and vanished down the stairs. Crowley blinked, looking up at Aziraphale.   
“I’m starting to see why you like that one so much. Quick wit she’s got, doesn’t she?” He muttered, drowning in the light of Aziraphale’s face.   
“Yes, well, it’s not every mortal who can handle you like a declawed kitten.” Aziraphale replied, laughing at the offended expression on Crowley’s face.   
“I’m more than a match for her, and you know it.” Crowley snapped back, without any venom in his voice to match his words.   
“I don’t doubt it dear. I don’t doubt it. Now, how are you feeling? You seem to be in fine spirits, at least.” Crowley waved away Aziraphale’s concerns, leaning back against the pillows.   
“Like I said, alright.” Aziraphale studied Crowley for a moment, before folding his arms across his chest.   
“I know you better than that, Crowley. Stop trying to put on a brave face and let me in for once.” Aziraphale pleaded, and Crowley looked away, silent for a long moment. When he looked back, he’d dropped his carefree façade. He let the tiredness and strain show on his face, there was a dimness in his eyes, a diminishing of his spark. For once the centuries showed on him, and he seemed incredibly old and breakable.   
“Oh Crowley…” Aziraphale could read Crowley like a book, could tell exactly how broken he was, how tired he was, how damaged he was, from this and from everything else.   
“It hurts, obviously, it hurts like hell. But... well, I strung up the stars, angel. Now I’ll never touch the sky again. I’ve lost it, surely as I lost myself when I fell. You’ve always been my one saving grace, Aziraphale. From the moment I met you, I knew that much. The only thing that makes this bearable is knowing that you’ll never have to feel this. You’ll always have the sky.”   
“You stubborn unbelievable demon. What am I supposed to do with you?” Aziraphale said softly, lovingly, eyes warm and wet as he took Crowley’s hand.   
“Keep me on my feet and have patience with my obstinance, I suppose. Like you always do.” Crowley answered, yawning, burrowing deeper under the covers, closing his eyes.   
Just before he fell asleep, he felt the bed press down and warmth embrace him, feathers tickling his cheek, pillowing him in light. He sighed, leaning back into the solidness of Aziraphale as his arms wrapped around him, knowing tonight, at least, he’d be free of nightmares. As long as he had Ziri, he’d make it through this. As long as he had Aziraphale, he’d be alright.


End file.
